


choosing my confessions

by crimsonpeak2015



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, roman has a breakdown, takes place directly after logan slaps him, went in a weird religious direction on accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonpeak2015/pseuds/crimsonpeak2015
Summary: She’s making small circles with her thumb on the back of his neck and the way he’s almost swaddled in between her legs, Roman wonders if this is what religion feels like. If this is rapture, if this is rebirth.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	choosing my confessions

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably ooc, especially for roman but i really just want him to have a breakdown at some point so i wrote one myself. i hope you all enjoy!!!
> 
> title from losing my religion by REM

Roman finds himself stumbling to Gerri’s room, throat stinging and eyes welling with tears and he hates himself for it. This is nothing new, he should be immune at this point, right? He’s been beaten with a slipper and locked in a cage, for fuck’s sake. But a slap? That’s little league. He’s never been able to figure out what it is about him in particular that always seems to make people want to beat him up. It’s never Shiv, never Ken. And he isn’t entirely sure if his persona is a cause of it or a result. There’s a heavy humiliation that makes him sink into the floor, and his mind is storming and he can’t quite put together why it’s Gerri’s room that he goes to without a thought. The only thing he knows it that his body is screaming for her right now. 

Her door opens and she just looks at him, invites him in with a nod of her head. He’s filled with relief when he sees her, has the urge to kiss her. The blood that fills his mouth is warm and salty and Roman wants so badly to give it to her. He can picture it vividly, the feeling of Gerri’s lips moving against his, her tongue in his mouth. And then her pulling back, glistening crimson dripping from her smirking lips. She would enjoy it, too. There’s something so warm in the idea of that, so intimate. He vaguely remembers learning something in school about the Aztecs, how they gave blood sacrifices to the Gods because they believed it was the essence of life or some shit. He would be her sacrifice, willingly. Gerri consuming his life force. He would give her all of it, his whole life. He sits on the bed, still, for fear that he’ll crack. 

“Are you still bleeding?” She says softly and her voice is all oranges and yellows, caring and concerned and kind and real, and he can hardly stand it. 

Roman nods and follows her eyes as they trace his face, and he swears in the dim light of the hotel they look more yellow than blue. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” The way she says it is almost maternal, like he had skinned his knee riding a scooter rather than been slapped in the face by his father, and he absolutely does not want to think about why that makes him melt. 

She leads him to the bathroom and he leans over the sink, blood mixing with the warm water from the faucet and turning the porcelain pink. Though she’s not touching him, he can feel the hand that hovers carefully above his upper back. They have always been intimate in their formalities. When the water runs clear, Gerri leaves, and panic immediately rises in his chest. Jesus, he’s like a fucking baby with separation anxiety. He needs her always there to tell him what to do, to take care of him. He can’t do it without her. He can’t do anything without her. 

She comes back with a glass of something dark and alcoholic and he drinks it greedily, reveling in the way it makes his raw gum burn. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yup, yup, I’m all good.” His voice cracks despite himself. 

“You know its okay to be upset about this” She heads back toward the bed and sits. He imitates. 

“Yeah but I’m not so it’s fine.”

They sit in silence for a moment and Roman wants to die. He wants to die or else curl up on her lap and fall asleep there. His wanting creeps under his skin and through his veins and overwhelms him, and he lurches forward suddenly to place a hand on her arm. They’ve never touched before. He flinches at the contact, as if afraid something might happen when their skin meets. That he might brand her. But nothing does, and he can feel her pulse and her warmth and he’s terrified. But he can’t let go. 

“Why did you come here?”

He snaps up. “What?”

“If you’re okay then why did you come here?” She’s teasing, a small smile curling at the corners of her mouth and for once he doesn’t know what to say. He looks at her, pleading. He begs, his eyes darkening, for her to tell him why he came, why he always comes. Because fuck if he can say. And she knows him better than even he does. She always always knows why. 

He’s silent, choking on words like molasses in his throat, and she looks him in the eye with a sort of unreadable understanding. He doesn’t realize that she’s moving to touch his hand on her arm until her fingertips brush his knuckles and he jumps for fear of being burned. 

“You know you can talk to me, Rome? About anything?” her voice is thick and it coats him like honey, leaving him feeling sticky and unsettled.

“Oh yeah, sure, Lady Macbeth.” He’s suddenly red. So angry, so hot, bitter but not at her. Never at her. But he doesn’t know what to do. The only words that he can put together are deflections to separate them, though their hands still touch.

Gerri chuckles and cocks her head. “Oh I think we’re well past that.”

Roman jumps up, off the bed, to pace, to yell. 

“How do I know that, though, huh Gerri? How do I know that the minute things go south you’re not going to show up with phone records? How do I know that you’re not going to leak a secretly filmed video of me locked in the bathroom? Fuck.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Well how do I know? I fucking don’t!” 

“Roman.” The way she says his name is like a wave washing over him, his body stills and relaxes when it falls from her lips. It’s frustrating how soothed he is by her, how grounded. She’s the only one in the world who can cool him down, make him focus, keep him steady. A door frame in an earthquake. Despite everything, he laughs at the thought. Because that’s certainly one way to describe himself: a natural fucking disaster.

He doesn’t understand her power over him. But then again he doesn’t understand much of anything. 

“What?” he spits, but it’s weak and half-hearted, and really he wants more than anything for her to tell him exactly what to do right now.

“Come here.”

And he obeys, because he always does and always will. He would never say no to her, even if he wanted to. His body belongs to her completely, when he’s with her he has no control over what he does. He shuffles over, breathing heavily, head hung in something akin to shame. He really is like a puppy, he thinks, crawling back to her with his tail between his legs. If it were anyone but her he would be embarrassed. Gerri, with her legs hanging off the edge of the bed, pats her lap and he falls to his knees without a thought. Burying his face into her thighs, he inhales deeply. She smells like bourbon and perfume and whatever fancy detergent she uses and it’s all too much. He tries to slow his breathing, focusing on her scent and the way her skirt feels against his cheeks, how soft her thighs are. 

Gerri’s hand makes its way to his hair, and she strokes gently, letting him rest there and dissolve into her. He’s certain he’s never felt safer in all his life.

“Talk to me.”

He feels panic rising and his eyes stinging with tears. He can’t do this. He can’t do this. But there’s Gerri there, with her steady fingers and the heat of her lap and he feels so held, finally secure in himself and his body and his mind. And she knows that he can. She believes in him. She wants him to. And with his face nestled perfectly into her lap, he knows that he is, for the first time in his whole life, finally completely free. So he does. He does and he cries silently into her, just letting the tears run slowly down his face to soak into her skirt. 

He tells her everything, shit he’s never told anyone before. About his dad and his mom and Ken and the fucking Dog Pound. About how it’s always been him, the one blamed and attacked and beat up. For everything. He tells her about that time when he was 10 and Kendall stole their mom’s cigarettes and he didn’t get dinner for a week because of it. He tells her about Tabitha and the personal trainer and how he doesn’t understand why it’s always him. Why he seems to be all but forgotten until someone needs a punching bag. Once he lets himself talk he can’t seem to stop, and it’s both the most relieving and most sickening sensation he thinks he’s ever felt. When people say “word vomit” they aren’t joking. 

His breath becomes shallow sobs and he loses all sense of what he’s saying, certain that he’s lost all coherence. Just a blubbering brainless sack of skin at Gerri’s feet. Roman begins shivering and trembling and clinging onto her for dear life, afraid to see her eyes. And he sort of puts together why Gerri is different. Kendall and Shiv and even Tabitha, they all care but don’t listen. Gerri though. Gerri listens but doesn’t care. There’s no judgement, no thoughts. She just lets him shatter under her fingers and then gets up and forgets all about it. No baggage. It’s about safety. 

Gerri lifts her hand and he looks up, eyes red and swollen and streaky, and she smiles. Without a word, she shifts, pulling her skirt up and pushing his head down in between her legs. Somehow he knows that this isn’t sex, it’s not time for him to eat her out. Rather, it’s about getting him closer, getting him calm. How Gerri knows that this, just being there, cradled by her thighs and her cunt, is exactly what he needs is beyond him. He takes a deep breath and nuzzles her inner thigh, closing his eyes and feeling his body vibrating. He’s still crying, and when Gerri grips his hair and pushes him closer to her cunt, so close he can almost taste her, he whimpers and exhales deeply. He can feel her heat and he can smell her and his body convulses, then relaxes. She’s making small circles with her thumb on the back of his neck and the way he’s almost swaddled in between her legs, Roman wonders if this is what religion feels like. If this is rapture, if this is rebirth.

She holds him there until his breathing is steady, until his mind is empty, and then taps his head so he can sit up. He leans back onto his heels and looks up at her, feels so clean and so cool. As his eyes readjust to the light, Gerri’s so bright she looks like she’s glowing and Roman wonders if it would be idolatry to worship her.  
She’s smiling tenderly and her golden hair is falling into her face and she holds the ocean in those eyes and he has no doubt that Gerri, right there above him, with her skirt tugged over her hips and her legs parted, looking down on him, is a god. 

It seems proper, then, to make an offering. To give her something back. Though he could never repay her for the life that she’s given him. 

Roman reaches down to unbuckle his pants, and he hopes that this is enough. That coming for her is enough. Because he’s already bled once today.

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave a comment!!! they really mean the world to me 💕💖


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